


Re-creation

by windsoffreedom



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abigail is not dead, Abigail kills, Anniversary, Canon typical murder, Canon-Typical Violence, Chiyoh is nice, Gore, Hannibal is a Cannibal, M/M, Multi, Murder Family, Murder Husbands, Other, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Somewhat Au?, They survive, Vacations, a little fluff and sappy romance, gore and blood is present, graphic killing, pseudo-names, safe-houses, they might all be cannibals, warning: not for the unprepared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 05:06:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5321564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsoffreedom/pseuds/windsoffreedom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They had slain the Great Dragon and plunged to their supposed deaths. Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter had indeed both died that night. Will had intended it to be so, but fate or the sea had other plans."</p><p>In which Will and Hannibal both survive and the shattered teacup is made whole again. Enjoy :).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When Sea Foam Turns Red

It had been five months since their fall. They had pulled themselves out of the depths of the dark churning ocean, the waves parting in white froth as if to give rise to the two new beings that came from it. They had slain the Great Dragon and plunged to their supposed deaths in the eyes of the public world. Will Graham, the FBI profiler and Hannibal Lecter, the Chesapeake Ripper had indeed both died that night. Will had intended it to be so, but fate or the sea had other plans.  


When their heads broke the surface, the impact of their fall caught in a dive with Hannibal’s back turned to shield him from potential rocks, Will had almost regretted it. He had wished that Hannibal might not have forgiven him for his last act of betrayal and imagined several scenarios where he might have left him to drown or smashed his head on the sharp boulders. Instead, they swam to an inlet where the cliffs gave way to sandy shores and a remote beach surrounded by trees. All the while fighting against the currents, torrents and tides, barely making out each other’s forms under the shadow of jagged cliffs above. Salt water lapped at open wounds and stung his eyes but Will had no strength to pay any heed to his body’s warning of physical damage. Survival was the only thing on his mind. Yes, the fall should have killed them both but it did not, so he decided not to let himself drown in the ocean.  


Will made the last few kicks into chest-deep water, strength waning from his muscles although adrenaline still pumped in his blood and rushed through his ears blanketing the natural noises with a faint, shrill ringing. Ahead of him Hannibal seemed in much better condition as he waded in the shallows, the water turning murky from stirred up sand. It was when he took a large step to a dry portion of beach where the water receded, that he winced and Will remembered that the man had taken a bullet through his side. Some childish notion told Will that Hannibal had knowingly placed himself between Will and Dolarhyde’s gun but he refused to believe it for the time being. The two men struggled ashore, clothes dripping with blood and sweat mingled with seawater, heavy and sticking to their skin. Exhausted and only just catching his breath, Will had collapsed onto the white, moon-lit sand and Hannibal sunk down to sit beside him.  


Far off to his left perhaps, he could very faintly make out the outcrop where Hannibal’s cabin perched. They weren’t very far and if they dallied till dawn, the FBI would surely have found them. Maybe they were already on the lookout, having traced Dolarhyde and the missing police car to the glass battlefield. If search parties were out to find them or their bodies, tracker dogs would probably be able to make short work of their scent trails. There was not enough time for nature to wipe their evidence. Nevertheless the amount of forensics and blood on the crime scene would need investigating and it took time to process the film from the Dragon's camera. Will brought his eyes back to Hannibal who looked over to him as if waiting for his next suggestion, to see what he would say after his new becoming. If Hannibal wanted to live, they had to leave soon, the sky was already fading to inky aubergine from glorious black. Never mind the beach, the salt water would wash their blood away, the same way it had washed the dirt from their eyes and cleaned their wounds.  


“Will find us..if we don’t leave,” his throat was rough, like sandpaper and Hannibal’s irises; dark maroon interwoven with fine threads of crimson, was his last spectacle before he sank into darkness.  


Three days later, daylight came as an expected awakening, sun rays filtering into whatever room he was in. Will wasn’t sure if he was a morning person or not. Insomnia tended to depreciate one’s preference over optimum times of the day. He cracked his eyes open, lids and lashes now less caked with grime and salt, waiting for his vision to clear from the blurred film of grey as color and outlines of his environment came into focus. This certainly could not have been one of Hannibal’s safe houses. It was too crude for his tastes. Elk heads and trophies hung on the harshly carved wood, a rough mantle and fireplace, with a few mismatched arm chairs propped around and a dismal attempt to soften the place with a feminine touch; frilly white lace curtains over the windows and floral stand lamps in odd corners. A lack of privacy was to be noted, there was obviously no door separating the master bed room and the main space. Even to Will this was distasteful. There was a musky, dank smell from everything which indicated that this house was rarely ever aired or opened. Noticeable layers of dust also told him that it was hardly occupied. It might have been a vacation cabin. There were bound to be a few dotted along the coastline. Hannibal would have picked it out simply because it was a good hideout, low-key and unassuming for the time being. Holiday season was still a good five months away.  


A faint smell of melted butter and slight thyme hit his senses and all of a sudden he felt hungry. Slowly getting up, careful not to put pressure on his right side because of his bound shoulder, he set his feet on the ground and tested his walking stability. There was gauze all over his chest, arm and some on the side of his face which burned with bearable intensity. The pain that ought to be much worse was gently numbed, no doubt the good doctor had administered him some painkillers. Deciding he could make the few steps to the kitchen, Will padded away from the log wall obscuring his vision of the rest of the house. Hannibal, as expected was behind the kitchen counter with his back turned to him, in the same shirt he had worn the night of the fall, sans sweater and bearing stitched holes and faint stains. He probably had no other choice of clothing. None to spare as Will had looked down earlier to find himself in his own singlet, and briefs, the clothes which were given the same treatment as Hannibal’s. A slightly eaten plate of omelets lay on the side of the counter nearest to Hannibal and Will figured that he had heard him stir and went back to the stove to prepare another plate of breakfast for him. As Will approached, the taste of dried blood under his tongue made him remember that blood transfusions were key to them still being alive. He glanced around but found no trace of them.  


“Good morning, Will.” Hannibal’s voice sounded cheery and oddly well-rested. His posture gave away no hint that he was still recovering from a recent serious injury or the trouble to survive their fall.  


“Morning.” he replied, his throat still feeling ragged and sleep-worn. “You sound spunky” he added sarcastically.  


“I did manage to catch some sleep after cleaning and stitching our wounds. You slept deeply enough for a few days not to mind my company too much.” Hannibal said, indicating to the bed without turning to point and Will recalled the creased sheets and the empty space beside him. Well, there was nothing left to be discreet about then. He could not remember waking up in horror to find a sleeping serial killer beside him. The drugs he had been given were very effective.  


Hannibal scooped out the moist eggs onto a plate and Will swallowed the excess saliva in his mouth. “L’oeufs brouillés with some garden fresh herbs and a glass of water.” Will looked up at him and caught the small tug at the corners of his lips as he set the dish down and slid it over the table top. He looked impeccable as if he had not been shot in the gut, swam through the Atlantic, hauled them to safety and patched them up. Will suppressed a laugh because he recalled that his cheek was covered in gauze and surgical thread.Talking already made the fire on his face flare a little more.  


“Save me your fancy mannerisms. We’re somewhere in the middle of nowhere, eating scrambled eggs and having a conversation when the whole police force could be out there with bounties on our heads and arrest warrants for dangerous murderers.” It was meant as a joke and Hannibal returned to eating his food with a smirk as Will dug in, gingerly putting a forkful into his mouth, careful not to overstretch the muscles there.  


“I would have preferred that you maintain a liquid diet until your cheek healed, unfortunately this is what we may afford to for now. Your wounds will have to be dressed and changed frequently over the next weeks. I hope that you hold no discomfort to my treatments.” Will looked up expecting to see Hannibal’s expression, collected and professional, instead the warmth and tenderness in his eyes as they passed over the battered side of his face, caught him off guard. Delirious as he had been, Will was sure that he had woken up at least once as he was carried into the cabin and yet another time when the sharp steel of a needle dug into the side of his face.  


“I’m fine with wound dressing and you can sleep in the bed too. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable.” Hannibal simply nodded and the rest of their breakfast passed without further conversation.  


\---

Over the days of gentle wound care and increasingly comfortable talks, Will gradually pieced together information on their whereabouts. The cabin was at least two miles from the beach where they washed up on, no one was in as the owners were clearly not from the local state as the belongings around the house had proven. Hannibal had broken in with a crowbar he found outside, the lock being easy to snap. Their medical kits and supplies as well as a few frozen blood transfusion packets which Will had correctly guessed was needed, were retrieved from the emergency vehicle which was part of their transfer convoy. Hannibal had hidden the package nearby and back then Will had not asked what it was for although he had an idea of Hannibal’s escape plans. He had been confident that they would not survive. Somehow he was glad to be wrong. Electricity and aerial TV worked and Will enjoyed the simple pleasures that he had once neglected back at home. The news had confirmed his suspicions that the police would find Dollarhyde’s body, the camera and massive evidence of their bloody fight. A week in and the media was still gushing about them possibly surviving and the police were on high alert searching for wherever their bodies would turn up or possible leads. Eventually he figured the FBI would have to assume the two suspects dead. He was right. They were declared missing and most likely drowned, the blood loss and scientifics of the cliff fall suggested so and the public could lay their fears to rest. Jack Crawford was removed from the case and reassigned to another and slowly but surely, rumors of them still being alive died down. People wanted to forget and that was where the waiting game proved successful. Perhaps only Tattle Crime would have glorified its two favorite ‘murder husbands’ in media immortality. Will was not lost on that term, in fact he was beginning to like it.  


Hannibal’s trust in him never wavered and Will supposed that he was given the chance to flee on more than one occasion, to run back to the life he once had, to Molly and Walter but he did not. He was too far gone into the pit of his new life and self that there was no going back, he did not want to go back and Hannibal knew that too. They consumed whatever protein they could catch in the rock pools with the small net that Hannibal found and repaired. Crabs, fish and the occasional shellfish ended up on their plates. They waited out for a month as Hannibal suggested before cleaning the cabin and bed of their physical tracrs. Together they dumped the ash piles, cleaned up and dried the bathroom and discarded the used medical kit and empty egg trays. At first Will fumbled through his thoughts but working side by side with Hannibal tugged at the strings of his empathy and Will found himself delving into their shared mind palace where it was impossible to tell where he ended and Hannibal began. Their actions mirrored each other and blended into fluid motion. The morning of their departure when both men were strong enough, Hannibal told Will to prepare for a long walk. They would be skirting through the outer fringes of the woods. As they left, Will looked at the ring on his finger, slid it off, squeezed it one last time and buried it in a sandbank.


	2. Chapter 2: When Life Becomes Maddeningly Polite

Four months since leaving Maryland for good, Will and Hannibal were comfortably settled in one of his many getaways. They had walked North from the holiday homes for approximately three miles until they reached an outhouse garage tucked far enough from prying eyes. The metal shutters were dented, sprayed with graffiti and covered in crawling weeds. Hannibal dug around in the soil on the left side and retrieved a box containing car keys and the garage key. Proceeding to unlock the door and slide it up with Will’s help, they pulled off the car sleeve. Will had promptly chuckled as he took in the rather shoddy choice of transportation. An old black and white Ford Crown Victoria had been parked in the middle of the empty room. Yet despite its age, it was well kept with every visible necessity intact.  


“It will take us where we need to go.” Hannibal had said, getting into the driver’s seat and Will opened his door slipping in as well, appreciating that it smelled crisp and dry in contrary to its surroundings. With a turn of the keys, the engine flared to life noisily, releasing a plume of smoke. It worked nevertheless and they took a turn out along the dirt path onto the highway and drove South.  


They bypassed a police car chasing a probable speed offender in the next lane and for a moment Will’s heart skipped a beat but no one noticed them and they continued on. It was all about timing and Hannibal had been correct in his deduction that by then, police lookout would have decreased significantly. Will looked over to his side, the car seeming rather cramped but cosily warm. Hannibal had his eyes on the road and while Will himself felt drowsy from their walk, the former seemed full of energy. Tentatively, Will placed his hand on Hannibal’s lap and looked out of the window at the passing scenery, brown curls pressed flat against the chilly glass of the window. If he had waited to catch Hannibal’s expression, it would have been one of pleasant surprise and love from his simple, domestic gesture.  


No one stopped them along the highway and they drove on through the evening and the night. Will lost track of time, counting the hours and amused himself with examining Hannibal’s right hand turning his palm over and over with his fingers and memorizing every nuance he could trace. They hardly spoke and Will was content with the silence, knowing that he was not alone and dozed off some time during the night.  


It must have been in the early morning, when Will woke up as a pair of bright headlights reflected from the side mirror in front of him, into his eyes. A black Cadillac CTS had pulled out from a side road and was following closely behind them. Scrambling to sit up, Will’s shoulder almost bumped into Hannibal’s. “Someone’s following us,” He stated the obvious while still disoriented from his sleep-laden state. Hannibal casually looked into the rearview mirror then focused back on the road, silent. They turned over into a side lane, unlit by street lamps and the other car followed suit, the driver cutting the engine as Hannibal opened the door and stepped out. Will hopped out too, slamming his door a little too firmly, fists clenched in defense. They had left their engine running and from the dim lights of their backlight he could just about make out the familiar silhouette of the stranger. Will almost swore in exasperation as he recognized her.  


If Chiyoh was offended by Will's exclamation, she did not show it. She spoke to Hannibal in a quiet voice and acknowledged Will with a small “Hello” not surprised in the least that he had joined him. Will knew that she had predicted as much when they last conversed. Collecting a large black duffel bag from the back seat of the car she exchanged keys with Hannibal.  


“The clothes as you requested are in a box in the boot with the IDs, gun, bullets, a knife and the withdrawal that you asked for.” Hannibal nodded, mentally ticking off each item that she listed and Will raised his eyebrows when she mentioned the gun and the forged identifications. He had wondered when Hannibal would start putting his carefully constructed machinations into place.  


“I wish you the best of luck, Hannibal, Will. You know how to contact me if you need to.” Chiyoh said, softly patted Will’s shoulder and he noted the delicate kindness in her eyes, not pity. Hannibal embraced her curtly and kissed her cheek, thanking her before she walked past, slipped into their old Ford and swiftly sped off into the night.  


“Come, we should be on our way as well” Hannibal was already by the side of the black car waiting expectantly for Will.  


“Are we going further South? We may be walking straight into the FBI’s open arms if we are.”  


“No, we will be going North, past Maryland. I have a safe house in Pennsylvania.” Of course he did. Hannibal was ever resourceful in his plans, Will did not bother to try and inquire into the number of secret hideouts he had dotted over the country, internationally even. He got into the car marvelling at the smell of light perfume wafting from what looked to be an expensive bottle of potpuri. The sedan was much more spacious and smelled of new leather polish. The finishing was shiny and its windscreen offered a wider view. After three years of incarceration, Hannibal had definitely been gradually reintegrating into his element of high-class luxury.  


Will stayed awake for the rest of their journey, unable to go back to sleep. Hannibal had declined his offer to take over and drive for a few hours so Will had contented himself to trivial conversations and questions. His only replies from Hannibal were vague or equally as good humored. They reached their destination by early dawn, a villa on a hillside, ringed with acres of pine trees and conifer woods. There were only a few other farms sparsely located in the area at the outskirts of the nearest town which was a settlement land where some of his ‘friends’ had taken residence, Will was told.  


The house was opulent to say the least. Outside, groomed vines wrapped their tendrils around the pillars and dug into the walls, spreading in chaotic tangles, yet somehow managing to look beautiful. The windows were hemmed in black wood, the door was made of the same material. Foreboding but humble enough for a countryside dwelling, the building was elegant in the way it towered over the lesser saplings around it. Inside, Will noticed the rich wood paneling and decorated fireplace, each piece of furniture carefully selected to shine in harmony with the interior, he would have expected no less from Hannibal. There were other more simple items, subtly placed between the book shelves and tables, things that resembled his belongings in Wolf Trap. It was a resounding echo that this home had also been planned to be shared with him. Their home.  


Will ran his hand over the back of a black leather chaise as Hannibal lit the fire and revived the power supply. Like the car, the house was clean and dusted. Undoubtedly Chiyoh had been there as well.  


Still contemplating on his thoughts and filed up memories, Will came across another unanswered topic. “Alana told me about what you said to Jack. You called me the lamb of God.” Hearing his words, Hannibal looked up, nonchalant.  


“Yes, Jack however, assumed that he was the god. ‘All Gods demand sacrifices’ I said, which was true on his part. Perhaps he ought to have feared the wrath of the lamb who lives beyond the hand of natural order.”  
Letting out a snicker, Will came to stand beside him, staring into the burning flames. “We’ve all wanted to play God from time to time but Jack underestimated the severity of my mind. They should have seen it coming. The lamb was sacrificed as God demanded and released the beast inside. Now the lamb’s a lion and is gone..with the Devil at his side.”  


“Am I the Devil, Will?” Hannibal was grinning with mirth but there was also a fragile shimmer in his eyes that Will could not name. It made him uncomfortable and he recognized it as his own defensive reaction to Hannibal's subtle vulnerability. Will swallowed thickly but held Hannibal’s gaze with confidence, all hints of his previous, shaky demeanor, gone.  


“You’re not the Devil but I’d be wrong to think that you're not the Devil’s advocate and that I am your willing sinner.”  
Hannibal nodded, not wanting to push further. The answer was good enough for now but Will knew he wanted more, to know if Will fully accepted him and the circumstances of their new life.  


Hannibal pointed out their rooms and mentioned where to find new changes of clothes and basic items, had said goodnight and left him to his own devices. After a brief shower, Will lay on the bed, staring at the faux night sky heralded by angels, painted on the ceiling. He did not want to give him the full satisfaction of his answer. Conceivably he still resented Hannibal for what he had done to him and the people he cared for. He was not ready yet to pay the consequences of playing this game.  


\---

Over the days, Will had explored the villa, memorized every room, furniture, crockery, building a new mind palace. Hannibal would leave the house intermittently and return with supplies to create fantastical dinners, overtly lavish although Will found his tastes gradually polished as he grew accustomed to his cooking. At times he would miss the laid back eating habits, adopted while working and on more than one occasion, Hannibal found Will helping himself to sandwiches overstuffed with sliced cheese and bowls of soggy cereal in milk. As a result, Will was now enjoying a dish of scrambled eggs and spiced pork sausage, more elevated than the meal he had back in the beach cabin but wholesome and homey nonetheless.  


Mulling over his memories, Will laughed, garnering a questioning look from Hannibal who was seated on the opposite side of the breakfast table.  
“It’s ironic.” he said jabbing at the sausage with his fork. The cutlery was heavy and ornately carved. “To think that all those years ago, you served me the exact same breakfast, probably with organ sausage from some poor sod who insulted you on the streets, and I said that you were uninteresting. Look where we are today, slaughter lovers. I was such a fool to assume that the people in my life couldn’t get any more interesting.”  


“I could not have foreseen that you’d have entertained me on this path. Righteousness is your defining factor, my dear Will. It almost sets us apart. Had I not understood your potential, I might have done away with you much earlier. Yet you were willing to dance with the dark when I gave you every opportunity to turn back.”  


Will placed his fork down, steepling his hands. “But you were confident that I would stay. You’re right, out of all people, that only monsters would understand each other.” Hannibal’s expression was inordinately amorous and Will closed his eyes in avoidance, retreating to their shared mind palace. _“Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you, and find nourishment at the very sight of you? Yes.”_ Bedelia had pointed out the obvious, her statement was a double edged sword that saw Hannibal victorious at both ends.  


The ravenstag had appeared once again and nudged Will’s arm with its velvet nose and Will was reminded of his nightmare from the day before. It was a mix of broken memories and nonsensical landscapes, invaded by people from his past. He had woken up sweaty, heart pounding against his chest but aware that it represented the fragments of a life that he was learning to relinquish. Hannibal’s door was open for him as always but he had refused to enter and seek comfort there, so he stood in the hallway, staring at the calming blackness of Hannibal’s room before returning to bed and drifting into a dreamless sleep. Will pulled out from his memory.  


Hannibal joined him in their drawing room, now half a forest thanks to Will’s abstract imagination.  


“A beautiful place you have created for us, Will.” He was all tender and loving and nothing sinister. Will watched him examine the mountain laurels and belladonnas with deceivingly gentle hands. Hands that took life but had preserved his more than once. _“But do you, ache for him?”_ He had been aware of Hannibal's feelings for a long, long time. He also knew that Hannibal would not ask anymore of him. The flowers were interesting, he decided, selecting an unusual plant, cupping its entirety in his hand.  


“The blood lilies would have been a fitting flower for the Dragon. I wonder if you like to recall us killing him together? Watching our union in another’s death.” Will had never staged such a question before but he had calculated his psychiatrist's response correctly. This was his choice and not by obligation. He could tell Hannibal was smiling without needing to look. Could feel his eyes seeing through his thoughts.  


“Killing the Great Red Dragon was more transcendent than anything we have done, Will.” A careful answer. So Hannibal was still unsure. _“Yes.”_ Will did ache for him, in many different ways. That should have been his answer to Bedelia’s taunt. He inched closer to Hannibal, the flowers forgotten.  


“Then, shall we validate the term, ‘murder Husbands?”


	3. Chapter 3: When Home Begins At the Door

Hannibal had insisted that they pay another visit to Florence on the anniversary of their survival. Only five months had passed since then and there was hardly anything to celebrate. Once they were certain that no one would come looking for the pair, they boarded a commercial plane under false names and flew to Italy. Will resisted at first even though Hannibal promised that their vacation would be four days long and only realized Hannibal’s true reason for picking their destination once they arrived.  


Settled into a boutique hotel by the waterfront, Hannibal had presented him with a file containing the address of their first target, delighted in the fact that Will easily agreed to join him. They both had a score to settle with their victim.  


When they left the old mansion, now belonging to no one in particular, Will had suggested they use a ‘green’ compost bag to contain the unburnt parts and other pieces of clothing left behind. Hannibal hauled the bag into the Arno river under the cover of darkness and was rushing back to the hotel.  


“I don’t think the companies that made those biodegradable bags intended them to be used for murder.” Will chuckled, squeezing his thigh as warm, red liquid started to seep through the fabric of his pants. The two-pronged fork still jammed into his flesh looked oddly reminiscent of their splendid dinner and Will laughed again.  


“The blood loss is making you dizzy, Will. I’ll have to see to it as soon as we reach the parking bay.” Hannibal dogged another stoplight and Will grunted in annoyance. Anyone else would not have noticed his knuckles turning white as they gripped the steering wheel, or how his hands were clammy and cold. Will just knew him well enough.  


“I’ll live Dr Lecter. You could at least behave like a good tourist.” The man beside him remained silent. Perhaps he was too engrossed in the emergency at hand.  


“Bedelia was feisty to the end. I wonder how you tracked her down. She wanted to disappear and now she has, literally.” Will made an attempt to sit up, feeling giddy from the rush of energy through his body from their slaughter rather than his injury. He had been through worse, this was certainly feasible.  


“She had her flaws. When she cut off ties to Jack and the FBI, she made it much easier for me to find her.”  


“Nghn..that was a good gift, Bedelia’s death, but there’s something else isn’t there? You should consider something more..tame, next time. Also, buy us some damn rings already, we’re married.” Will's empathy prodded around the doctor's concern, searching for some snarky humor. He found none. Hannibal put his free hand on Will’s shoulder, steadying him. The cafe where they had lunch zipped past in a blur, meaning their hotel was nearby. Sleep was tugging at Will and the sounds of the waking city and restaurants opening beneath neon lights were beginning to grow muffled and far away.  


“Will?” Hannibal called, rubbing Will’s sweaty cheek. “Stay with me, sweet boy. It’s not much farther now.” Will wanted to nap and it was very tempting to ignore his words.The fork had gone in deep. A flesh wound would still be bearable but a breached artery or torn muscle would be more serious.  


“Will!” Hannibal’s tone was urgent now, worried - no, panicked.  


“I’m fine..” Will was probably slurring, his body felt heavy and he nudged Hannibal’s finger, trying to reassure him. The car pulled into the parking bay and he vaguely saw Hannibal reach for his medical kit before he slipped into oblivion.  


After that incident, Hannibal had kept him in for the rest of their stay. Feigning that Will was suffering from food poisoning and an allergic reaction, he overpaid simply to have gourmet meals served to them in their room. Today’s lunch of buttered lobsters and mashed potatoes was particularly delicious. Will devoured every last scrap, propped up with pillows, careful not to stretch the fragile stitches in his leg. He had to be well enough to walk without his demeaning limp, lest suspicions be drawn to them at the airport.  


Hannibal sat by the bedside table, sketching and paused to run his fingers through Will’s well conditioned locks. The touch was comforting, trusting and he suddenly felt strangely nostalgic.  


“Three years was a long time for me to think about my becoming without your influence. Can’t say I wasn’t lonely.”  


Hannibal paused his sketching and looked up. “You said you wouldn’t miss me.”  


Will shrugged. “I lied.” Collecting the empty plate from him, Hannibal placed it in the food cart and pushed it out to the corridor. There was a mock pout on his lips when he returned.  


“You were always a good liar, Will.”  


\---

A week later, the other half of Hannibal’s anniversary bestowals arrived. He and Will were standing in their kitchen in Pennsylvania, sipping Chateau Les Ormes de Pez 1990 from crystalline wine glasses. An Austrian bottle of Pinot Noir was to be opened next.  


“The Italian newspapers have not reported any recent murders. It seems that Bedelia won’t be missed. Let us not rekindle the raging fire that is Jack Crawford.” Hannibal raised his glass in toast to Will, the wine pleasantly accented with the large bouquet of fresh roses on the dining table.  


“We can’t stay away from the shadows forever. The police won’t make too much of us plus Jack would have forgotten by now.”  


“Ah, yes. He left us for dead in the water, bones at the bottom of the ocean.” Hannibal was good at playing pretend and he was pretending to feel sorry for Jack. Will snickered.  


“His ego is what keeps him going, a false sense of justice to draw the line between monsters and men. Poor Jack has already reached the bottom of his conscience, he’s not worth the trouble getting into.” Will decided that he liked Hannibal’s expression when he was happy. There was a lightness to the older man’s smile that Will could not find in himself anymore. The doorbell chimed and Will nearly jumped out of his skin.  


“That must be the delivery.”  


“You ordered something?” Will asked incredulously.  


“It appears that I did. Could you fetch it for me?”

A long-haired brunette greeted him at their porch front and Will gaped, staring at her in disbelief for a few seconds, not even noticing Hannibal who had come to stand beside him by the heavy wooden doors. His hallucinations had returned again or maybe he was drunk on too much wine or drugged. The world around him became a haze of colors, sanity transfixed on the only clear person before him.  


“Will?” Abigail smiled sheepishly, wide-eyed looking between him, Hannibal and the snow-covered ground. Abigail Hobbs who he had seen bleeding out on Hannibal’s kitchen floor, who's ear he had thrown up into his sink, was alive. She looked well and radiant. He reached out to touch her, to claim if she was just a specter summoned from the bowels of his mind or if she really was there. His hands shook even as the mist of her breath condensed on his skin, were still shaking as he brushed a strand of hair away from her face and cupped her cheek, warmth pulsing under her skin.  


“H..Hi” he managed, eyes brimming with tears as he pulled her in for a hug, his entirety trembling as a soothing scent of mahogany and lavender wafted from her clothes when she embraced him in return. Will swallowed shakily, as he pulled away and took a step back, wanting to watch his partner’s expression. Hannibal was smiling proudly and Abigail threw herself into his open arms, relieved. They welcomed her into their home and gathered by the crackling fire place with a mug of exotic spiced tea in their hands as Abigail offered to share her story with Will.  


From the day Will had discovered the truth about her, Abigail and Hannibal had been increasingly wary. Although Hannibal had informed her when her first death was faked, she had not known his intentions the second time around. Will's breath still caught in his throat as she tossed her hair back over her left shoulder revealing a deeper, red scar across the side of her neck and a long pale line where her ear should have been. She had awoken in Hannibal’s cold basement, recovering with fresh stitches, traumatized further and unhinged.  


“Hannibal, I call him Dad now, explained why he did it and I forgave him. I only felt really bad for you, Will and I’m sorry for making you upset about me dying. When Dad told me that you might be coming here with him over the phone, I suggested to keep your old jacket to make you feel better.” Will recalled finding his old crumpled sweater, folded and lightly laundered, on the large bed that he and Hannibal now shared in their room. He smiled fondly at the thought, registering Hannibal’s fingers threading softly through his hair as Abigail continued.  


After that, Chiyoh had taken her in, with Hannibal’s funding of course. Following Hannibal around as he was on the run would have been a disadvantage to him and Abigail understood that much. The two travelled together from place to place and remained hidden away, occasionally speaking with Hannibal through pseudo names in written letters or over the phone. Their conversations were always brief but Hannibal would fill her in on anything that had happened and would happen.  


“Chiyoh was a sister to me and sometimes a mother. She wasn’t extremely kind or tolerant but she was nice enough and took care of me when I needed it. She saved my life a few times and she was a good companion. Dad knew I didn’t like being all by myself at that time, especially not when I was still having nightmares about Garrett Hobbs.” At the casual mention of her deceased father, Will realized that Abigail did not seem to bear any more sentiments towards her real father as if someone had taken her emotions about her past and snipped it in half with sharp, cold scissors. He assumed this was due to Hannibal’s manipulations.  


“She taught me to be independent, and to grow up faster, be smarter. When she told me Hannibal was in prison, I asked if I could be on my own for a while and she said she would be waiting till I came back. I went away and Chiyoh was still stalking around our hideout a year and a half later.” Hannibal laughed and Will found himself smiling as well. The doctor had mentioned that Chiyoh was undeniably stubborn and loyal as expected.  


“I had a lot of time to think and now, I’m sure that even when I knew that Hannibal was changing me, part of me wanted to, so I let him. That’s why I helped him, even when it should have been wrong. And, I’m also happy that you've decided to come with us, and that you can both be my dads, if I could call you that..”  


“Yes you can.” Will said without hesitation, glancing over at Hannibal who wore a mask or unreadable emotions. “Also, I forgive you, Hannibal. For keeping all of this from me but it probably made for the best anniversary gift.” He stood, as did Hannibal, hand in hand. Abigail looked up at them curiously and Will grinned.  


“C’mon, Dad number one probably wants to show you to your room.”


	4. Chapter 3.5 (Bonus): When Sunshine Brings Fruits and Fish

The Videls had three months to settle into their second home in Verona and establish their status there before returning to Pennsylvania. Once home, the family discarded their nom de guerre and went back to just plain Will, Hannibal and Abigail. Not that they were really an ordinary, run of the mill family. 

Abigail thumbed the silver charm bracelet which she had received for her birthday, keeping an eye on the brand new fishing rods placed beside her in the backseat of their car. A small egg, delicately painted and decorated with fine petals of flowers was nestled in her lap. She had bought it from the village which they had returned from, their local shopping area run by Polish migrants, some of which owed Hannibal their residence in America. Abigail had a sweet liking for delicate trinkets and she had listened intently to the old Polish woman who mused about the pagan origins of the pisanka egg.  


Will could tell she was listening in to her fathers’ conversation and shot her a quick wink through the rearview mirror. Hannibal looked up as well, noticing her dreamy expression.  


“ If you remember, we shall be going to Norway for the summer holidays. Will and I have planned to extend our vacation so that we can enjoy the fruits and summer climate for a few more days.” Abigail perked up at this and excitedly rearranged her scarf from around her neck and ear to better hear Hannibal’s suggestion.  


Their adoptive daughter loved the sunshine, the luscious fruits and the colorful flowers that came with it. A vividness that the often bleak climate of Western Pennsylvania couldn’t offer. Will decided that a beach somewhere would definitely have to be on their list of holiday spots around the world. He and Hannibal would spoil her rotten but they could afford to. They would enjoy themselves while they had each other, having no idea when judgement day would come.  


Hannibal had purchased a large comfortable cabin, designer made, intended for both him and Will and possibly Abigail up in he snowy forests of Norway. Snowy because Will had only seen one picture of it, sent by its previous owner who had sold it when Hannibal was still on the run in Florence. He was always miles ahead in his probable architecture of their lives. The cabin was surrounded by trees, far from other dwellings and in the distance a silver of frosted ice on a frozen lake and streams leading to it from a waterfall and to the sea. That meant salmon or other potential sorts of fish and with that in mind, Will had purchased the flies. He would teach Abigail to fish, literally now. She was already good at fishing their corrupted prey.  


Abigail was now officially part of _them_. Their family. Regular and slightly unconventional husbands and their adoptive daughter on the outside, but a murder family with teeth that could bite and rip flesh from bones, phantom stags on the inside. 

Back in Italy, Will recalled, while being quite delusion-addled, having demanded that he and Hannibal wore some form of confirmation that they were twisted parodies of a committed couple. Hannibal had kept true to that request and presented Will with a ring in a rather sappy, bloody, romantic fashion. Upon invite, Will had driven down to a city and found in an alleyway, a splayed corpse, ribs opened with roses carved in blood in its flesh. A real bouquet of white roses, streaked red from their drink of liquid life, sat in the skull cavity, replacing the brain.  


Will had chuckled and stared, taken aback by the masterpiece and gingerly pulled the strings which held the front of the exposed heart in place. The muscle unfolded like a door and nestled in a gap, cut into the septum was a ring. He had remembered how Hannibal stepped out of the shadows, a dangerous fire burning low in his eyes as Will slipped his ring onto the space where another once sat. He remembered running the pad of his thumb over the band, solid gold, silver and rose gold with celtic designs and serpentine vines tangled in beautiful chaos. The ring was simple and rustic and durable to weather-wear. It was easily a style that he would have picked, Hannibal knew him well.  


The car heater was notched up a degree and Will clasped Hannibal’s hand in his own, studying his partner’s ring as he had many times before. It was made from the same metals as his own except the design was a uniform braiding, embellished on a raised band of white gold. Will had seen the tiny red gem set inside and although Hannibal had not told him why, Will knew what it represented.  


Abigail watched Will as he kept his hand in Hannibal’s. Her fathers were dark beings like her but she appreciated that they enjoyed the mundane happiness of being a married couple. It had helped that people who saw them took notice of that too. After all, Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham were so much more intimate than any other parents. Abigail decided that she quite liked that.


	5. Side Story: To Eat the Flesh of Monsters

> Allegro mi sembrava amor  
>  Tenendo meo core in mano  
>  E ne le braccia avea madonna  
>  Involta in un drappo dormendo
> 
> Poi la svegliava, e d’esto core ardendo  
>  Lei paventosa, umilmente pascea  
>  Appresso gir: lo ne vedea piangendo  
>  \- Dante’s First Sonnet

I  


After seeing the news of Hannibal’s capture on TV, she had taken to leaving the country and traveling the tropics. Now she had returned because Chiyoh was visiting Lady Murasaki who raised Hannibal as a child. She had wanted to avoid attention so boarding transit flights from one state to another had seemed to be a better choice rather than to head home via an international flight. She did regret her decision, just a little.  


Abigail did not have to sit up to place the in-flight duty-free magazine back in its pocket compartment. The seats of this plane were so small and so closely compacted that the shoulders of her neighbors brushed against hers every minute or so. Her knees could easily touch the back of the seat in front of her and unfortunately, the gentleman in that very seat had chose to lean backwards, tipping the odor of greasy hair into her breathing space. It was smothering. She inhaled through parted lips, silently thanking that the budget airplane was reaching the last forty five minutes of its two-hour long flight. A flight which would have been perfectly alright if the man beside her could keep his hands to himself.  


He was growing increasingly annoying, brushing the sides of her jeans with his fingers, touching her knees and thighs and nudging his shoes against and over hers for the last twenty minutes. She committed his face to memory and from his clothes and suitcase guessed that he was married and a business man. She told herself that he wouldn’t be missed. Abigail kept a straight face and swallowed the rising bile in her throat. She knew what this was and the three dads she had been through had each warned her about these sort of…monsters. There was this sickening feeling that made her feel used and assaulted and put down as if she were a lesser being. That made her angry and mindlessly so but she smiled and pretended to day dream ignorantly. As she began to assemble puzzle pieces in her mind, Abigail found herself appreciating Chiyoh’s lessons on how to bind up an intruder and dispatch them. Hannibal’s cooking lectures also seemed even more useful and appealing.  


She followed him closely as they disembarked and collected their baggage amidst the crowd, cornering him before he caught a cab. Abigail had learnt how people like him worked, they fed on those who they presumed were weak and alone. Jacob Hobbs had taught her how to lure the other predators who were hindering his own hunt. She had been there when he killed them because the bait had to lead the lion all the way to its death. This man was gullible, he told her his name, his age and his job and she told him hers. She told him lies of how she liked the attention he’d given her and blushed, whispering words of honey and promises. He stalked her manipulations like a predator and even paid for the cab to take them to her home, far from the city but close to his hotel by the hills.  


The house was empty, meaning Chiyoh had already left and she lead him to the kitchen, pointed to the lounge by the dining table and waited till he turned his back to her. A small click echoed in the back of her mind and Abigail slipped into autopilot. Knocking him out was easy since the back of the skull was vulnerable. Burning his clothes in the yard, she propped him on a wooden chair and bound him in tape and rope. Legs to wooden legs, arms broken, he wouldn’t be needing those anymore and wrists secured with zip-ties. She left the gag out and pushed the furniture away. Selecting a knife and a chopper, she waited until he woke up.  


He cursed at her when he was no longer bewildered and Abigail circled him bemusedly, watching the fear in his eyes, mirroring the one that she had earlier that day. She told him why he was there as she drew a long line of crimson from his collarbones to his navel, not deep enough to kill but enough to hurt. There was something else she wanted from him and he had to be alive to see it. She reached lower, twisting her hand and he started shouting threatening words as she dug the pointed blade into attaching skin and tissue. He screamed when she pulled flesh over the blade and screamed some more as blood poured from the open wound, over the chair and onto the floor. Her hands were already slick with red liquid but deciding that he was becoming annoying again, she stood up and bent his neck upwards from behind him, pressed her knife into his neck and opened a smile in his throat.  


More blood sputtered out and sprayed on her face, hair and clothes, a few drops landed on the table but nothing more. His body still twitched when she cut a square in his chest, hacked away at the ribs and with several squelches, pulled out his heart. The man was dead by then, eyes glassy and open-mouthed like a squashed frog. Abigail slowly pulled out of the haze of adrenaline and looked at the mess in the kitchen. She frowned, placed the organs in a plate, left the corpse for now and headed to her room to bathe.  


Cleaning the fluids, blood, bits of flesh and bones took a while and the body had turned stiff once she finished burning her clothes. She pondered on the prized meat for a while before taking it to the kitchen and pulling out some flour, seasonings, vegetables and oil.  


An hour later, she set the table and placed the two main dishes down between her and the silent guest seated opposite. Hannibal, her new father, would have been proud. Abigail picked up a fork and knife, reminding herself to see to her guest’s departure. She smiled as she doled out his portion of the meal.  
“Rocky Mountain Oysters and Grilled, Stuffed Beef Heart.”

II

“So the cannibal is muzzled and caged. Surrender seems like a pathetic way for you to be caught, or did you do it out of love? I see you and Will are star-crossed lovers. “  


“Make of it as far as your ethics would stretch, Ms Lounds. The public must be hungry to feast on a bewitching story.”  


“A psychopath and a psychopath. Charming. Oh, but Will Graham won’t be coming to get you out of prison, I’m afraid. Our Tattle Crime readers would be glad to hear what you have to say about him, Dr Lecter.”  


Freddie Lounds sat, cross-legged in a stool, pen and notebook in her lap, watching her subject. A wall of glass separated them both from where Hannibal paced, exercising his legs and arms. He noted the shinning greed and triumph in her eyes, echoed in the bold colors of her glaring, pink clothes and leopard print tights.  


“I can assure you that Will thinks of me less than he thinks of returning to the FBI, much less your newspaper. He seeks the life of an ordinary man and chooses to forget that he desires more than just a family.” Hannibal considered lying but did not and eased into his Plazzo dei Normanni instead, constructing a large, wooden board, draped in bleached parchment.  


“Do you refer to yourself as the Biblical God, when it comes to Will’s mind and decisions?” The journalist tossed her hair proudly, chin raised in confident defiance to Hannibal’s incarceration.  


“No. I would be the catalyst in making Will recognize what has always been there.” Hannibal eyed the woman’s styled ringlets. Her bright red hair would be well complimented by the orange flames of fire.  


“I’d recommend Dr Chilton to your care. He would surely be able to tell me a thing or two about your feelings. Heartbroken that Will didn’t run away with you, or perhaps biding your time to escape. Then the chase for you will begin again.” Freddie Lounds was alive and comfortably so as she appeared before him but in his memory palace, she was pinned to the wooden board, in a white toga, reminiscent of Greek sacrifices, swan wings spread from her back, also pinned down. At her feet, a metaphysical bush of thyme, rosemary and other dried, grassy herbs. Hannibal regarded her for a while before retreating from his world to face the journalist in reality. A glint in his eye hinted that he had plans for her and she paused her writing and for a split second, her watchful gaze became confused and intimidated.  


“I hear that Dr Chilton has been writing articles about me. There is plenty of room for two more dilettantes in our highly social world.”  


“You no longer have any rights to boast or claim your privacy or dignity, Dr Lecter. The insane have no rights.”  


In his mind, a spark caught the ends of the dried bush and embers grew quickly, fanned by the breeze from opened windows. The bush was burning, as it did on Mount Horeb and it burned with the unseen wrath of the lamb of God. Freddie’s drifting white gown caught the licking flames and engulfed her as the sweet scent of aromatic herbs mixed with the blood relish of his victim, dripping in streams from the tips of her feet. The golden fire grew larger and bigger as it caught the white feathers and her ringlets of red hair with its devouring tongues. Her closed eyes and mouth shot open in inaudible screams as flames burst forth internally and the blazing inferno lit up her hair and the browning parchment. Hannibal admired his masterpiece, The Burning Angel, Will would have enjoyed this sight as well.  


“I would like to have you for dinner, one day, Ms Lounds.” Hannibal strode over to the glass divider where the woman stood, gripping her note book, the scratch of her ball-pen had stopped as she observed him warily.  


“Anyone would bet that you’d have me reserved with a recipe.” Now that she stood close by, Hannibal caught a whiff of her vanilla shampoo and found his senses further assaulted by her cologne. The perfume she wore smelt terribly fruity and sweet but dear Freddie had never been discreet about her second-rate tastes in fashion and writing. “What dish do I have the pleasure of gracing?” Hannibal understood this as a joke, a taunt perhaps but she had been the one to cast the net first, he was simply reeling in the catch.  


The Norman Palace morphed into his familiar kitchen in Baltimore. Sipping a glass of wine while seated at his old table in the Lecter residence, Hannibal pictured the dish before him and answered in an equally unperturbed tone.  


“That would be braised beef cheeks and veal tongue with baby leeks and horseradish cream.”  


Freddie stared at him, mortified at his threat and Hannibal delighted himself in the sheer terror in her eyes. Yet she raised her chin stubbornly, packed her recording items and dashed from the room as fast as her pig tails would carry her. Hannibal chuckled to himself wondering if Abigail would have delighted in watching Ms Lounds cower in fear. Chiyoh had retrieved her charge from the hospital a week after his flight to Florence and they had spoken when Bedelia was not in his proximity. Chiyoh had never disagreed when he laid down his plans for Abigail and the possibility of his imprisonment. At least the eagle-eyed sniper did not mind Abigail's company. He closed his eyes and resumed his fanciful meal.  


“Bon appetit.”

III

The cars on the highway were caught in a slow crawl, not unusual for any morning trip to work but Will could hear the wail of ambulance sirens in the distance and the flashing blue and red lights of police cars. Soon enough he passed by the barricades which blocked off a portion of the road. A crumpled car, rammed from the back and front, windscreen completely smashed, stood by the dented railings of the road. On the tar road, a body lay sprawled, face down in a pool of dark red and black, stained glass shards around it stuck in the lime-green and blue jacket which the victim wore. Will swallowed, the air in the car suddenly becoming clammy and the profiler looked away, continuing his daily routine.  


In his office, Will had some time alone before classes began and unlocked his closet, retrieving a file from behind his stack of spare clothes, glasses and ties. He dumped said file onto his desk and sat down, taking a shaky sip of coffee out of his mug. The staff nurses who cleared Hannibal’s cell every month, would hand the killer’s sketches over to Alana. Consequently they came into Will’s custody and he had kept them all despite being told by his colleague to dispose of them for his mental stability.  


Most of Hannibal’s sketches were organized replications of a previous drawing from the previous month with minute changes to small details. Will could name them; The Wound Man, Will himself, an anatomical heart, Hannibal’s childhood institution. It was as if Hannibal was playing a game or creating a picture story and clearly meant for Will to notice this form of distant communication. Will never visited Hannibal, he had no reason to, whatever Hannibal wanted to know from him, he already did. From time to time Will would play spot the differences. The Wound Man’s posture or inflicted weapons would change, a figure would stand in one of the many windows of the school drawing and once the heart seemed palpitated in an agonizing way.  


Of course his empathy conveyed every emotion and thought wrought into the sketches but Will would shove the knowledge of it to the back of his mind in denial. Some sort of twisted hubris had commanded him to keep track of Hannibal’s possible thoughts, certain that he knew how to control him. Will found that his resolve to believe this excuse eroded over the weeks. When he grew bored, those drawings had been his source of amusement.  


Will sighed as he flipped through the sketches, the familiar ones could wait till he had time. The last image caught his eye. A stag with twisted antlers and jet black pelt, crowned in glossy feathers, gazed at him from the paper, beside it, a white buck with an undeniable scar across its belly. Between those two creatures, stood yet another deer, this time, a small fawn bearing a similar dark line etched into the left side of its slender neck. He left the sketch on the desk because his hands were shaking and prickling from blood rushing under his skin.  


During therapy, Will had never quite told Hannibal about the raven stag that haunted his visions and accompanied him on sleepless nights. Evidently Hannibal had browsed through his own memories without permission and resulted in the recreation of his picturesque family. A sore reminder of what Will had thrown away because of his decision that night. Collectively, the animals bore a melancholy mien hence Will took it as a soft yearning for what could have been. Besides, they had both forgiven each other.  


The rest of the day proceeded without incident and Will went home to his dogs, his loving wife and son. Molly and Walter gave him the life he had fancied, quiet, simple and peaceful. Walter adapted well to his silent demeanor but liked to make him laugh on the occasions when they played together. On the other hand, Molly echoed his loneliness because they had both known loss in their lives. She was clever too and always kept a gun nearby. Will liked that and he liked the uneventful days that passed but through Molly’s stable personality and Walter’s young spirit, Will found himself looking for something beyond the people he ought to love. The three of them were either mother, son and Will or silent companions at the dinner table. A haphazard web held them together but Will was not ready to change that, he treasured his numbing existence whereas he had known that Molly would move on and be alright even if her husband vanished or turned up dead. Still, he felt guilty if he ever hurt her.  


Will would watch Walter go to bed before he did, the boy slept well and never had nightmares unlike himself as a child. Some nights, Molly would speak to him about her grief and her life until she drifted to sleep. Now and then, they would explore each other and Will would hold her close after that, to comfort her and when they had nothing left between them, Will sank in and out of consciousness while Molly almost always never woke up. His insomnia kept him up and when he did sleep, he would have nightmares or tipsy visions in limbo.  


As he lay unseeing in bed, the accident from earlier that day turned into a crime scene and behind his lids, the golden pendulum swung from left to right once more. Time reversed.  


“My partner who is involved in killing the victim is one car ahead. The victim’s car is between mine and his. At the bend, we coordinate our driving, he slams on the brakes and I hit the accelerator. The victim never wears his seat belt, we have watched him and planned that his habits would maximize the damage. Our three cars are now rammed together and we swerve to hit the railing, the force throws our victim from his car. He dies instantly and we drive away, blending into the morning crowd that is just starting to ebb onto the highway. We have made it look like a hit-and-run accident but our murder is a crime. This is my design.”  


Will sat up with a start, covered in beads of perspiration. There was a suffocating feeling around his chest and legs, contributed by the bed sheets and thin blankets wrapped around his form. Molly was still asleep, his restless tossing had not woken her. He moved his bed clothes away and put on a fresh pair of shorts and a shirt. The kitchen would be his sanctuary until morning, again. There was a sense of security in the kitchen, one which Molly could not provide, safety that Will found in someone else.  


When morning came, he interrupted his former psychiatrist while the latter indulged in his imaginary meal. Hannibal smiled as if expecting him. Will did not wait for an invitation as he pulled a chair and sat down at his place.  
“I miss having breakfasts with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for grammatical and spelling mistakes in any of the chapters (most of them were written in the dead of night XD). I was also tempted to add something particularly sad about the 'Silence of the Lambs' arc but decided not to on second thought. Hannigram is such a treasured ship, I really don't want to twist in the wrong direction ;D. Enjoy :).


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